The elevator doors closed behind us with a soft chime, sealing us in together.
The space felt impossibly small with him in it. He stood beside me, still holding my hand, his thumb tracing absent patterns on my skin that sent electricity racing up my arm.
I couldn't breathe properly. Couldn't think. Could only feel the heat radiating from his body, the intoxicating scent of him—something dark and expensive, cedar and something else I couldn't name.
"What floor?" His voice was low, intimate in the quiet space.
"Penthouse," I managed, my voice barely above a whisper.
His eyebrows rose slightly—surprise, maybe, or approval—but he reached past me to press the button. His arm brushed against mine, and I shivered despite the warmth flooding my body.
The elevator began its ascent, and the silence stretched between us, thick with tension and unspoken promises.
I should say something. Should explain, or ask his name, or do literally anything besides stand here trembling like a nervous virgin—
Which I was, technically. But he didn't need to know that.
"You're shaking," he observed quietly, his grip on my hand tightening slightly. Not uncomfortable, just... grounding. "Are you afraid?"
Was I? Terrified, actually. But not of him.
"No," I said, surprised by the truth of it. "Just nervous. I've never..." I trailed off, not sure how to finish that sentence without revealing too much.
Never done this. Never been with anyone. Never wanted someone so intensely that my entire body felt like it was on fire.
He turned to face me fully, and suddenly those glowing blue eyes were all I could see.
"We can stop," he said, his free hand coming up to cup my face with devastating gentleness. "Right now. I'll walk you to your room and leave. No judgment. No questions."
The offer was sincere. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in the careful way he touched me—like I was precious, fragile, worth protecting even from himself.
It would be so easy to say yes. To run back to safety, to the careful, controlled life I'd built.
But Asher's face flashed in my mind. His desperate plea. His dying wish.
And beneath that, something else. Something selfish and hungry and desperately alive.
I didn't want to stop.
"Don't," I whispered, my hand coming up to cover his where it rested against my cheek. "Please don't stop."
Something flickered in his eyes—relief, hunger, something almost like pain.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded, then rose on my toes and pressed my lips to his.